


Caring but Absent

by vvvulpes



Category: Night In The Woods (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Awkward Romance, F/F, Growing Pains, Male-Female Friendship, My First AO3 Post, Not Canon Compliant, POV First Person, References to Abuse, Religious Conflict, Romance Isn't The Focus, Spoilers, Underage Smoking, Weird Autumn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-20 07:17:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14890040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vvvulpes/pseuds/vvvulpes
Summary: "I kinda wondered if they even knew Bruce was out there, and I also kinda worried I was making shit worse by even asking. They might try to run him off, seeing as the woods behind the church still belonged to the church, and sometimes churches are the last place you want to be when you need help."I finished NITW and couldn't get Pastor Kate and Bruce off my mind, so I decided to write a non-canon account of the friendship that grows between Mae and Bruce. Deals with religious conflict and questioning beliefs, also Mae is a bit of a jerk but that's nothing new.





	Caring but Absent

**Author's Note:**

> Can you believe I turned this fanfiction in for my final project in my college advanced fiction class? My classmate wrote, "Why didn't you keep them as animals you coward," as his feedback on it. Enjoy!

When I was maybe fourteen, I started having this question circle around in my brain, and it bugged me, scared me. Sometimes it sprung up when I saw the news flickering on the TV. It appeared when Angus told me that his mom had locked him in the pantry for a few days and ignored him when he cried. It appeared again when grandpa died. It appeared when dad, recently laid off, started coming home later, smelling sour, yelling at mom, knocking things over. And sometimes it was phrased differently, but it almost always started with, “What kind of God?”

I stopped going to church after a while, which made my mom’s eyes well up when she thought I wasn’t looking. But, the meat and potatoes of my days didn’t change much.

The day before I left for college, mom made me come by the church to say thanks and goodbye to Pastor Kate. When we had a moment to ourselves, I asked Pastor Kate if she really believed in God. And I guess I was just grasping, holding onto anything, because I was scared.

She responded, “I don’t always know. On my best days, I think I do. But there are times where I don't.” 

That really devastated me in a way that made me angry.

But I left home, said goodbye to my parents, and went to off school. 

A few months in, I came back home, and I didn’t have anything at all. So, I picked myself up, put on a coat, and walked to church. I don’t know if it was to have it out with God, or just to see the building again, but it didn’t matter much because when I was walking, I heard a sound.

At first it had been almost a gentle snap, like a twig split by heavy footsteps or some tree branch pressed too far by the wind. I didn’t think much of it, just kept shuffling through the leaves and stuffed my frozen fingers into my pockets. After a few minutes, it sounded again. Much more impressive the second time, a crack that resounded.

Peering hard around the trunks, I tried to spot anybody who could be out shooting on this cold-ass day. I trudged on, glancing at the surrounding stillness, but I didn’t hear another shot until I could see the dusty blue of the church through the spaces between the trunks.

“Hello?” It was a little croaky, didn’t seem loud enough against the woods around me.

“Hello?” A girl’s voice echoed my question. She sounded kinda familiar. After a beat, she followed up with, “Is someone there?” and I nearly rolled my eyes.

“Yeah. Someone is. Where are you? You’re awfully close to the church.”

“I’m out behind it!”

That was hardly the proper response to my reproach, but shouting doesn’t transfer nuance very well so I let it slide. I finally did manage to spot her though, all black aside from her fiery crop of hair, and as I walked over I saw that it wasn’t a gun I’d heard – it was a crossbow. The sound had been much too clean and sharp, after all.

“Is that you, Mae?” she asked. Her toothy grin told me my confusion was plain as day.

“Jenny, Gregg’s cousin. We all played together before I moved to Bright Harbour.”

And when she said it, I could suddenly spot all the fragments of Gregg in her face – that sharp nose and chin, the silvery splash of freckles, the same ginger hair glinting in the setting sun. I remembered her, but barefoot and wispy in shapeless dresses, bandanas tied around her head to keep her hair out of her face. I hadn’t seen her like this now, a head taller than me, filled out and shapely and curved like a violin. I was still dumpy and sturdy-looking through the years, so recognizing me was probably easy.

“Yeah, that’s all coming back to me. It’s good to see you,” I stumbled through it awkwardly, trying to drink her in and still look smooth about it.

“You too, really. I’m only back in town for a bit so it’s funny I ran into you.” Her hair was ruffled by the wind and looked downy like a feather bed. “I’m here getting stuff from Gregg’s mom, had a free weekend.”

“Oh that’s cool, yeah. You’re still in school?” I focused on swallowing all of my saliva.

“Yeah, just changed majors and all so I’m looking forward to the semester. Used to be business, but I’m giving fashion design a try. What about you?”

I didn’t miss a beat, lied through my teeth. “Yeah me too, just down for the weekend. Still studying computer stuff,” then a pause while I looked for an out. “So what’s the crossbow for?”

“Oh, well nothing really – I mean, I don’t get to shoot much up at school. Maybe some small game when I’m home, but not much. Just out here for target practice.”

She shrugged and nodded towards a tree about twenty yards away bearing a little paper target stuck with a few arrows. I was sure that she would bring up school again, so I feigned fascination and let my jaw drop. 

“Oh damn, Jenny! You’re quite a shot, I mean damn. That’s so cool! You don’t even need practice, with that aim,” I said excitedly, and I remember her chuckle.

“If that impresses you, that means you don’t shoot much. Ever fired one?”

“I mean, no. Not ever.”

Jenny’s eyes lit up, and she glanced down at the bow resting on her thigh. The loaded arrow ended in a wicked metal tip. The thing even had a fucking scope on it, like a spy weapon.

“Wanna try a shot? I’ll help you out.”

I really didn’t want to, but it seemed stupid to back down after pretending to give a shit about crossbows and hunting, so I told her pretty weakly, “I wouldn’t mind giving it a go.”

Careful to point it away from both of us, Jenny passed the crossbow to me. It was actually pretty heavy – my arm buckled under the weight, and Jenny grabbed it instinctively. 

“It’s kind of a piece of shit, but it’s a three hundred dollar piece of shit so please don’t drop it,” she laughed, and turned me around by my shoulders to face the brightly colored target.

Then Jenny was really close behind me, so much so that I could smell sweat and cloves and face cream. She guided my arms up, working my left hand into the front grip and curling my right around the rear grip. I’m almost positive she warned me to keep my finger off the trigger until she said so, but I was suddenly so nervous that it just passed through my ears and I wrapped my index around the thing anyways.

“Squeeze it firmly now,” she said. 

I squeezed my eyes shut and my finger yanked it back stupidly. 

It turns out crossbows are real quiet when the bolt is released. Most of the sound comes from the impact. Jenny’s shots cracked through the air because they’d stuck fast into the tree bark; my shot was a quick snap, and then silence. The arrow flew past the tree so fast it was like the neon green shaft had been vaporized.

“Ah, that’s okay. Happens all the time, that was alright for your very first one,” Jenny said. “But now you gotta help me find it. At least arrows fly in straight lines.”

Then she gently pried the bow out of my stiff fingers, and I was so relieved to have it gone. “Yeah, I’m sorry. I’m no good with this stuff,” I mumbled, but she just grinned and sauntered off. 

We walked quietly, eyes peeled, but hadn’t even gone fifty yards before we both saw what looked like a dirty dark blue tent, shrouded by trees but directly in front of us. Jenny’s mouth screwed up into a corner, and her lips only got tighter as we approached it. 

Peering around the last trunk in my way, I could guess it was some kind of campsite, but what I thought was a tent was actually just a threadbare tarp. It was full of little holes, and a few frayed chunks of rope secured it around tree trunks and branches to form a little shelter. The stupid arrow with its stupid little green tail was sticking out of its side, about eye level with me, adding a fresh new tear to the collection. Jenny seemed rooted to the spot, nervously picking at the fabric of her dark jeans, but I figured it was my fault anyways so I should retrieve it.

I tiptoed over to the arrow, unconsciously holding my breath while I listened to the shifting leaves and creaking bark around me. I grabbed it and gave it a tug, and it popped back out of the hole easily enough. 

I could have just turned and bolted back to the church, but instead I slid towards the opening of the tent and peeked inside with the arrow clutched tight in my fist. A man was laying on the ground inside, nothing but a piece of sun bleached cardboard underneath him. He was grizzled and sorta shabby – his black jacket and jeans were in good condition, but it was like a fine layer of silt had settled into every crease. I thought he was asleep, but as I stood there surveying him, his eyes opened very calmly and latched onto mine. 

I jumped, and I remember my free hand flew up to cover my mouth.

“I don’t bite,” he said, and his voice was like gravel, like tree bark.

I blurted out, “Sorry,” and trying to explain what I was doing there, I stuck out the fist that gripped the arrow like a toddler displaying some brand new discovery.

He sat up slowly and nodded at me, eyes trained on mine, and I had no idea if he understood what I was trying to convey.  I noticed that the wrinkles around his eyes were like knotted wood. Then Jenny was suddenly beside me, pulling on the back of my jacket like a strict mother at a supermarket.

I’m not sure if it was her sudden appearance beside me or her hefty crossbow that made him nervous, but his sleepy eyes became more alert and tight, darting between our faces and the bow. In a little flurry of movement, he jerked up and scrambled to his feet, backing away from us.

Jenny yanked hard on my jacket then, shouting a stream of “Whoa, whoa, whoa!”

“Easy, easy, we only came to get back this arrow,” I said, putting my hands up defensively so he could see my palms.

The old guy didn’t say anything, but he pointed with a shaky finger to Jenny’s bow.

“I promise we’re not here for trouble,” I tried again. “I’m sorry we disturbed you.”

Jenny’s crossbow was already pointed to the ground, but I think he wanted her to put it down. It was clear from her white-knuckle grip that wasn’t happening, so after an uncomfortable pause I tucked the arrow into my pocket and stepped to the side, blocking the weapon from view.

“It’s just for hunting, we were out here practicing,” I said.

“Okay, okay.” He said, and gave a big exhale. “I’m sorry, you girls seem okay, you just can’t be too careful with strangers.” He seemed a little breathless, and nervously ran a hand over his salt and pepper hair. “Not a lot of people come out here in these woods.”

“Why are you all the way out here?” It came out much blunter than I had meant it – I often chalk that up to a bad habit, or my chronic foot-in-mouth disease.

At first Bruce was quiet. “I don’t want to bother no one. I figured that out here, I wouldn’t make myself a nuisance.”

I nodded for a second, feeling my face soften. How damn sad, some old guy camping out in the woods like this, all alone.

“You don’t have a family or anything?”

“Mae!” Jenny practically barked, swatting at my arm, but Bruce didn’t even flinch. He never even broke eye contact, and his crinkled eyes became more relaxed.

“I’m sorry about all this, I’m Jenny, and this is my friend Mae,” Jenny said quickly.

“Nice to meet you both, I’m sorry about startling you,” he said. Then he started digging around in his pockets, found a crushed pack of cigarettes, and slid one between his lips. “My name’s Bruce. Would either of you happen to have a lighter?”

Jenny shook her head, but I had already taken mine out of my pocket. He really did seem harmless enough, and it was unfair to be on edge just because he was homeless, so I ducked into the covering and stuck out the lighter. Rather than take it from me, Bruce stretched his face out with the cigarette clamped between his lips, so I lit it. I felt bad for staring, but not really.

“Thank you,” he said, took a drag, and exhaled a cloud of smoke.

“Yeah man, no problem.” Then I pulled my lighter back out and said, “Actually, here. You can borrow it for a bit.” 

He picked it up carefully, skimming my open hand with his fingers.

Jenny wrapped things up after that – probably in a hurry to prevent me from growing a third foot to stuff into my gullet. What I remember most about meeting him, though, was how cold his fingers had felt when they had touched my hand.

Jenny and I hiked back up to the church, awkwardly silent until Jenny made me promise I wouldn’t go back out there alone. Then she asked for my number, said she would text me, but I couldn’t really focus on saying goodbye with a hundred different questions bouncing into each other in my hollow-ass skull. Some were familiar musings on my own idiocy, but mostly I just wondered where I could snag a blanket for Bruce. I was chilled to the bone even in my jacket.

I decided I’d visit my mom at the church, either to ask if the church had anything or if I could borrow one of ours from home. I kinda wondered if they even knew Bruce was out there, and I also kinda worried I was making shit worse by even asking. They might try to run him off, seeing as the woods behind the church still belonged to the church, and sometimes churches are the last place you want to be when you need help.

* * *

The church is dusty old thing, a little crooked, some funky wood bloat happening from the flood a few years back. A single spire sits on top, gleaming white and tilting drunkenly, and the rest is painted a muted and worn out blue. It’s got these big, tall doors too. Unruly, raw wood that fits into the neatly painted trim with all the ease of a square peg in a round hole. They fucking creak when someone gives them a pull, it’s like a long and drawn out groan that hardly feels welcoming. And the stained glass and the vaulted ceiling are reserved for the sanctuary; the narthex is a fluorescent space where dust motes fly freely.

My mom worked as a secretary in the church. I was hoping she would be sitting at her desk, but it was empty. Pastor Kate, though, was in her office with the door open. She looked up from whatever she was scribbling and smiled wide when I caught her eye. Those silver frames made her look like Dwight Schrute.

“Hey, how are you Mae? Glad to see you back here. Are you looking for Candy?” She tucked a bit of her straight blonde hair behind her ear, got up to come greet me, and leaned against the door frame.

“Yeah, where is she?”

My rudeness didn’t budge that smile. “She ran out for a second on an errand, but she’ll be back shortly.” Her tweed skirt was dumb. It hit right at her knees and made her legs look short. 

She continued chattering, “If you don’t mind waiting for her, how about we sit and catch up in my office? I’m happy to see you again, your mom mentioned you were coming home.”

Her little hand pressed into the small of my back and ushered me into the office, which was crammed with papers and overwhelmed with cheap incense.

“How have you been, Mae?” 

I plunked down into a chair, but she perched on the edge of the desk in front of me and crossed her arms casually. She thought she was a  _ cool _ pastor, not some lame ol’  _ regular _ pastor, she sat on  _ tables _ and said she  _ understood you _ , and tried to get into your head. From the way I’d set my jaw, I bet she could tell what was coming, because her eyebrows started to stitch together.

“I’ve been real shitty, Pastor K. I fucking dropped out.”

A beat. She uncrossed her arms and leaned back a little, supporting her weight with her straightened arm, and stared right into my eyes. Her face was as still as a lake, gently disappointed, but I was being boiled under her gaze. 

“Mae, I know you say that kind of stuff to throw up some defenses and to get a reaction from people, but please don’t swear in the Lord’s house.”

I really had no idea how the fuck to respond to her literally roasting me on a spit like that, but it was my turn to cross my arms. We sat in silence for a bit until she let out an exhale through her nose.

“I won’t press you on it, Mae. I just wanted to chat.”

“I’m sorry.” It was tough to squeeze out, give me some credit.

She nodded and tucked hair behind her other ear. “It’s okay. I know things have been rough on you recently. You know, I’m always here to talk to. It doesn’t all have to be about God for me to listen. And it might make you feel better.”

I didn’t really want to talk about myself – I’d apologized, but we weren’t friends. But, the only other thing floating around in my noggin’ was Bruce, so I took a chance on her.

“Well, I just met some old guy out in the woods, behind the church. Like, as in he’s living there, in some cobbled together tent, and he has like, nothing.” 

Pastor Kate pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose, eyes widening slightly. “You were out there alone?”

“No, I was with a friend,” I said, shaking my head. “I apologized for tromping all over his set-up, and he seemed pretty nice, but, he’s outside y’know? And it’s cold as hell,” I explained, faltering a bit on the last word, but Pastor Kate didn’t reprimand me again. “Maybe we can lend him some blankets, so he doesn’t freeze to death.”

“That sounds like a real good idea, Mae. And it sucks that he’s out there.” She looked pensive for a minute, chewing on her bottom lip and staring past me. “We couldn’t have him stay here unless I could talk to the Board members, but maybe we could work something out. In fact, I’ll do that right now, shoot them an email.”

She didn’t seem to be talking to me, but I nodded vigorously. Then her eyes shifted to mine, and she said, “In the meantime, until I can set up a meeting, let’s see what we have.”

The supply closet down the hall had a few blankets, mostly unclaimed lost and found items, but they were clean. We folded them and set out with a little bundle, but I was super nervous that Bruce would be irritated instead of grateful with my meddling. 

I led the way, wandering in the general direction until I could see the blue tarp through the trees, and Pastor K was shivering in her cardigan as we approached the tent. Her fingers were red, and she stuffed them into her armpits.

Bruce was sitting on the cardboard in his tent, cross-legged and gazing out into the trees. When he saw us stepping around the trunks, he gave us a big smile and lumbered to his feet.

“Hey again, Mae. This time it’s a pleasant surprise,” he joked brightly, and I was secretly pleased that he had remembered my name. “What’s all this, then? And who’s this other friend?”

“This is Pastor Kate, and Pastor Kate, this is Bruce,” I gestured with a little nod to each of them, hands occupied with blankets.

“Hey there, Bruce. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Pastor K stuck out her hand, and Bruce shook it politely. “I’m the pastor of the church up that way, and Mae just stopped by to ask if we could do anything for you.”

His face was a bit bewildered, or maybe just pleasantly surprised, and when I passed him the little stack he was quiet for a moment. A little hoarsely, he murmured, “For you to go out of your way like this, this is such a blessing.”

It felt weird and awkward to accept this outpouring of gratitude over something so small, so I clammed up. Pastor Kate has a heart though, so she gave him a gentle squeeze on his shoulder and told him, “You’re more than welcome.”

* * *

Jenny actually texted me first, which was confusing and great. She wanted to know if I’d broken my promise about returning to Bruce alone, but she also wanted to just talk. We chatted about Bruce, about school, about reality television shows. She sent me a few really cute selfies while she was at school, when she was studying at the library or eating lunch. I saved every photo, which was kinda creepy.

A couple of weeks passed with casual banter, maybe even flirting, until one Friday afternoon Jenny said that she was driving up from Bright Harbour for another weekend. I actually washed my pair of good jeans. On that Saturday she came and picked me up in this big, beat up Chevy, which was unexpected, and we got milkshakes. We didn’t even do anything, just sat in the parking lot and joked around.

She made the first move. She said, “Mae, I think I like you.”

Which I thought meant I was supposed to kiss her or something. When I stretched my torso awkwardly over the console, she laughed, and she had a smudge of caramel on the corner of her mouth, and I knew I wanted to kiss her real bad. 

And I accidentally told her, “I know we didn’t like, go on a date today, but this is the best date I’ve ever had.”

Then Jenny and I went to go see Bruce, parking in the church lot, and while we were walking through the woods she laced her fingers through mine. I obviously didn’t mess things up too badly. 

We didn’t stay for very long because the sun was already setting, but Jenny got to tell Bruce about what her school was like. She told him if he ever got tired of tiny towns with only one grocery store, Bright Harbour was big and beautiful.

When we got back to the truck I confessed to Jenny that I wasn’t actually in school anymore.

“I kinda suspected. You never talked about assignments or anything, and if you were a  college kid you’d know that’s all we ever bitch about,” she said, and she tucked my hair behind my ear. The spot where her fingers trailed down my neck stayed hot for hours after.

After that, I started visiting Bruce, not every day but pretty close to it. He was usually pleased to see me, and I was happy to have something worth doing. It’s not like I had anything else to waste my fucking time with, other than maybe bugging Gregg and Angus while they were at work, and that couldn’t be an everyday thing. And I tried to always bring him a little present, even if it was just a pack of cigarettes or some lunch. I figured he would always appreciate something warm to eat, and he’d confessed one afternoon that the pepperoni pizza Hot Pockets, the ones with the garlic butter crust, were his all-time favourite.

We both appreciated the occasional silence, and Bruce would sometimes point out birds in the branches above, but mostly we chatted our way through pack after pack of cigarettes, lighting the next one off the one we were already holding. And we talked about every little thing, and every big thing. I told him I’d dropped out because I’d been sleeping all day in my dorm room, not even leaving for meals. I told him about my grandpa’s obsession with paperback horror novels, how he’d left me an apple crate of books. 

Bruce told me that he hadn’t always been a drifter, that he’d worked as a miner, a construction worker, a repairman. He told me that he would have to settle down soon, that freighthopping was shit on his joints and he was having more close calls now that he was getting older. He was having nightmares where he would lose a leg. The only thing we didn’t talk about was his family, except for one brief admission that he used to have a daughter. 

What really bothered me though, was that even though he seemed a little warmer now with his blankets, I still hadn’t heard anything from him or Pastor Kate about him moving into the church. He mentioned that she had been out there, a couple times a week in the mornings or evenings, to check up on him and talk for a bit. I tried to picture her smoothening out her woolly cardigan and plopping down in the dust under the tarp. It didn’t seem possible.

No better way to get answers than by asking, so I went back up to the church after saying my goodbyes and found her in her office again. She looked wan, almost gray, tired.

“How are things coming along with Bruce? Will he be moving in soon?” I kept my tone pretty light, because she was definitely feeling the pressure.

She looked into my face like she was searching for something, but she said, “I’m not sure yet, but things are moving. And wheels are turning. And even if they are turning slowly, God can turn any wheel He wants to. I think this will turn out fine.”

I didn’t see her for a while after that visit, but I kept visiting Bruce and the leaves and the temperature kept dropping and he kept sleeping on the fucking ground.

* * *

When I did see her again, she was sitting with Bruce in the tent. He was smiling, and when he saw me coming he waved me over. I cleared my throat and said hello, and Pastor Kate actually cracked a joke, saying, “Pull up a chair with us.” 

We didn’t smoke that time, and I mostly just listened to their conversation, but Pastor Kate was telling Bruce about the time she’d driven all the way to Deep Hollow County to attend a two-day outdoor movie festival only for it to get rained out. Pretty soon I was laughing, too. It felt bright and warm, and I was feeling good about all of this.

When the sun started to sink, Pastor K and I left together. We walked a short way in silence, and she broke it first by saying in a low voice, “I have some bad news.”

“I talked to the Board members,” she continued as the church expanded into our view. “They want to take this pretty far. At first they said okay, so long as I was willing to interview him and make sure he wasn’t on drugs. Now they’re talking about appropriations, funding, insurance. They’re having second thoughts about, if I can quote them, ‘housing a bunch of bums’ in the church.”

“Bruce isn’t a bum,” I retorted, angrily misfiring at Pastor Kate. “And it’s one guy. It’s not a recruitment program of every homeless dude in the state, it’s just Bruce for fuck’s sake.”

She slowed to a stop and turned to me, her big wide eyes behind her big wide frames looking sadder and more hurt than I’d ever seen before. “Believe me, I know, Mae.”

“And it’s only getting colder and colder every damn day,” and I was suddenly shouting.

“I know, Mae, I know! Please, please lower your voice. And I’m trying to make them see that it’s just temporary, just to get him out of the cold–”

I cut her off, bewildered by all this red tape bullshit, and said, “Who honestly cares about what they think? He could die out there. Just let him move in, with or without their blessing.”

I’m pretty sure Pastor K had never broken even one rule in her whole life, because she floundered for words for a moment. “It’s not that simple Mae, we could be in hot water.”

“You’re such a hypocrite,” I said, and I was staring into those big wide eyes, and I kept going. “You talk about wanting to help people, and it’s not that you can’t help him, but that you won’t, all for some people who don’t give a shit about you or him or anyone.”

Pastor Kate’s face closed off as if I’d thrown a switch, and I could only see myself reflecting back from her glassy pupils. But I wasn’t done, and I wanted to hurt, and I wanted it to hurt, too, so I said, “You talk about praying and hoping and all these wheels turning, but the truth is that God doesn’t give a shit about what happens here. You get up there every Sunday and tell people you believe someone’s out there watching over us, and it turns out, if He even exists, God’s just an asshole.”

Pastor Kate’s anger was like a lick of flame, barely discernible in the way her voice cracked when she said, “Maybe you’re right, Mae. Maybe it would be more honest to get up there every Sunday and give people some kind of tally of how much I believed that week, how many of my prayers got answered according to my schedule. But who would that help?”

I remember feeling hollow, and the anger kinda leached out of me after that. All I said was, “I gotta go.”

* * *

I didn’t visit Bruce again for a few days. I didn’t return Jenny’s calls or texts.

I didn’t really do anything other than sleep and eat, so it’s true when people say that wherever you go, there you are, and all that. Put me out on the curb for garbage day.

After three or four days passed, I figured that Bruce might not be sure what was going on with me. And maybe he thought that I’d lost interest, or that I didn’t want to talk to him. 

I woke up at around 4 o’clock, with the sun setting vividly and squinting its hard, gold rays through the slats of the blinds in my bedroom. It was gonna be dark soon, but I crammed my feet into my boots and walked myself down to Bruce’s camp. I could see each thick, white puff of breath in front of me, expanding up and out.

Bruce had made himself a little firepit in the days I’d been absent, which glowed and crackled cheerfully, guiding me in the growing darkness. I remember his panicked look when he spotted me approaching in the trees, but I gave him a friendly little wave to assure him that I wasn’t some mugger, or some assassin.

“Mae? Is that you?”

“Yeah, sure is, man. I’m sorry I hadn’t been out here the last couple days.”

His smile was always the same, calm and firm. It fit so well, nestled into his creases and fine lines, and I wondered if that smile stayed put when he slept. He waved his hand, as if to say “Don’t worry about it,” and I plunked down opposite to him, the fire between us casting shadows on the surrounding trunks. I hugged my knees.

After a few minutes of watching the flames, Bruce said, “It seems to me like there’s a lot on your mind. I’m all ears, if you feel like it.”

I shook my head, but smiled at him. “Thanks, but I’m okay. Just dumb kid stuff.”

Bruce had taken up a stick in his hand and alternated between poking the fire and drawing in the dirt. It gradually occured to me that he was searching for words, and I watched his thick, grizzled brows meet in the middle of his forehead.

“You look like you’ve got a lot on your mind too, y’know,” I remarked. “It goes both ways, I’m all ears.” I even tried to smile like I thought Pastor Kate would, if she were there instead of me.

Bruce hummed for a minute, clearly mulling things over, and then gazed into my face. Maybe it was just the flickers of the firelight, but he looked so old, so tired.

“Can you tell Pastor K something, but not until tomorrow?”

I was instantly a bit chilled, but part of me yearned to have something that she couldn’t have. “Of course, Bruce.”

He nodded, eyes serious, and leaned in closer as if the woods were conspiring to reveal his secret. “Tell her I said thank you, okay? I’m leaving tomorrow,” he said.

“Why, what’s happening?” I tried to smile, but it faltered. I felt stifled by the heat of the flames.

His eyes seemed to be a shade of gray. “I’ve been causing so much trouble for Pastor Kate. She’s been so kind, but I’m not worth losing her job. I’m gonna hop just one more train and head back home.”

All I could do was ask, “Home?”

He nodded, that calm smile back in its place. “My daughter, she’s waiting for me. She’s gonna have a ‘welcome home’ sign and everything, even if it’s just poster board and markers. We’re gonna be a family, I’m never going to touch a bottle again. Never raise a hand to no man again. And I’ll be home.”

“That sounds great, Bruce!” 

He reached his hand around the little campfire, and my was lighter resting on his open palm. I placed my hand on his, curled my fingers around the casing, and he gave my hand a gentle squeeze. We stayed like that for a minute, his big hand wrapped around my small one.

“Gonna miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too, honey. Thanks for talking to me.” He took a pause, and then released my hand. “We’ll all meet again, don’t worry.”

* * *

I did what he asked. I waited until the next afternoon before I walked out the door. I partially broke my promise though, because I’d told Jenny. She was confused, asked me how his daughter had even contacted him out there in the woods, which I hadn’t even considered.

Before I went inside the church though, I wanted to see Bruce’s campsite again, maybe to check if he was really gone or something.

She was already there, standing with her back to me, staring down at the cold, blackened sticks and limbs in the campfire. She heard me approach as I shuffled through the leaves. When she saw it was just me, her shoulders sagged a bit.

“Hey Mae, how are you doing? Do you happen to know where Bruce is?” Pastor K sounded hollow like an empty cup. I could see behind her that Bruce’s borrowed blankets were folded tidily and placed on the cardboard under the tarp.

I nodded. Her face crumpled and she barely contained her anguish, which made it much easier for me to swallow the clumping in my throat and steady my hands. “He told me yesterday to say thank you. He said that he was going to head home, and that you shouldn’t put your job on the line for him.”

She was quiet, gazing at me without really seeing my face, so I continued. “He said his daughter is waiting for him.”

Her glassy eyes locked onto mine, and the intimacy and frustration there were searing, painful, but I couldn’t look away. Why was no one happy for him? Why was everyone so suspicious, so selfish? Why did they all have to make me doubtful, too?

I remember that I had been happy for him, even when that was tinged with loss. I’d mostly focused on how it would feel to be alone again. I remember that it had seemed so perfect, such a tidy way to wrap up Bruce’s stay in town, and I’d never worried if it had been too perfect.

And when I looked at Pastor Kate, I thought,  _ It’s your job to believe, not mine. _

“Thanks for telling me, Mae,” was all she said, and I turned on my heel and sprinted away, desperate to escape those fucking eyes and their blame and hurt and resignation.

From behind me, in those woods, I heard Pastor Kate say, “God damn this world.”


End file.
